<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>What Is It Like To Be Okay? by orphan_account</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632888">What Is It Like To Be Okay?</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Stuck Inside in 2020 Works of Boredom [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Cancer, Gen, No romo, Shapeshifting, Telepathy, cuz shes like 12, i would have used an actual character but couldnt find one, oh well, thats darkish isnt it</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:55:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23632888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Raven never stayed. Telepaths aren't exactly welcome in the mutant community, or any community, for that matter, but they have their own, silent community behind the scenes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jean Grey &amp; Charles Xavier, Raven | Mystique &amp; Charles Xavier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Stuck Inside in 2020 Works of Boredom [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What Is It Like To Be Okay?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He can do a lot of things with his powers. Reading minds is just as instinctive as breathing is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that’s nothing. A constant, like a heart beating. Projecting thoughts into other people’s heads is hard at first, but within half a week, it’s easy as looking around. Easier than actually speaking aloud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He found it difficult to sleep for a long while. So instead of sleeping, he practises until he's physically and mentally exhausted, so much so that he couldn’t even stay awake. Maybe it wasn’t healthy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He eventually figures out how to sleep with the voices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His range is rather far, he also discovers. About a kilometre, and that’s just instinctive. He tries pushing, and discovers he can read anyone in the town, a half hour drive away. It left him exhausted the first time, and the second and third times. By the eleventh, it only makes him sweat. By twenty, it was as easy as his original range.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stopped pushing his range at about four hundred kilometres. And then stuck to it, because his automatic range had multiples times ten, and he needed to figure that out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he had the powers for a year, he’d figured out how to sleep without much trouble, how to zero-in on anyone, how to project and all sorts. He started to experiment on the staff. Small things at first, like cutting one big flower and not the small one, or taking a certain path through the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he got a sense of when people know he’s in their heads. Although for that to happen, he had to really root around, and cause a big mess. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he meets Raven, he knows just about everything about his powers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s awoken by a new mind, sneaking into the house. A mind that’s fleeting and terrified.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>—so hungry so hungry nobody’s here who’s that woman be her be her it’s easier if they think that—</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>“Who are you?” he already knows the answer, of course he does, but it’s a habit of his to ask things like that, if only to appear normal. “And what have you done with my mother?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>[</span>
  <em>
    <span>My mother has never set foot in this kitchen in her life.</span>
  </em>
  <span>] he says, and she backs up, eyes widening, and he steps forwards, forcing her back without really doing anything. [</span>
  <em>
    <span>And she certainly never made me a hot chocolate. Unless you count ordering the maid to do it.</span>
  </em>
  <span>]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could force the transformation, the person impersonating his mother is barely holding it together as it is, it’d be easy to push her slightly over the edge. And he might, if she doesn’t comply with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She transformed back, into a small little blue skinned and red haired girl.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>She left the next day. Charles didn’t stop her, simply listening to her mind as she snuck out of the building, disguised as his mother, ordering the driver to go to a rather nice place in the nearby town.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wiped the driver's mind of the encounter for both Raven and his mother's benefit. And his own; he’d rather not deal with some kind of identity theft debacle.</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>Telepaths aren’t accepted like everyone else is in the mutant community, as far as he can tell. But he’s only met a tiny handful of mutants and of the other telepaths... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s only met one. A small girl, who used music to blot out the noises in her head and was dying of cancer. The few hours they spent together were bliss for both of them, he thinks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was there with her when she died.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the man in my head.” she had whispered when he stepped into the hospital room, having cloaked himself from everyone else. She slowly pulled off her headphones, focusing on him, and only him. “The telepath.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” he had nodded. “I am. And you are the telepath who’s been nosing around in my head, now aren’t you, Summer Lavine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d winced, arms moving up to hug herself as she lay in the hospital bed, completely bald, an IV in her arm, dressed in a loose t-shirt and pants. “I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s quite alright.” he’d soothed, gesturing towards the end of her bed. “May I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d nodded, eyes unblinking as he sat, before she pulled her legs up to her chest. “Charles Xavier. Telepath. Expert in genetics. Dead mother. Dead father. Dead step-father and twin. Not that you knew that until now, you never thought to search for it, but I know it’s there. I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice had rung with truths and pain and quiet mental whispers of </span>
  <em>
    <span>can you help me with the voices</span>
  </em>
  <span> and he’d taken her hand in his, rubbing circles in her palm because he knew it reminded her of preschool, and how the teacher had told her to calm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>We rub circles to help us sleep. We rub circles to help us calm down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m afraid they never truly go away.” he’d said. “And your time is near, is it not?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded, only thirteen, cancer in her bones killing her. He knew what she wanted to hear. She wanted to be reassured, be praised for what she’d worked out, told she was brave. And he would not lie to her, not now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a rather clever solution.” he said, tapping her headphones as they hung around her neck, still playing music. “The voices blend in, do they not? I’d have never thought of it, although it does seem quite obvious in retrospect.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d smiled, eyes twinkling. “I thought I’d help. It does. And I have other ways to. Doing things. Like fighting, and sports, they help a lot. It goes away. And I’m good at them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her free hand moved towards his forehead, one finger extended. It shook in the air, and she swallowed. “Can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bowed his head, allowing her finger to grace his temple. [<em>Of course my dear.</em>]</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her mind is open wide, and he can hear the music from her headphones through her ears, and while he doesn’t understand a word of French and never has, he can through her.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On m'envoie–t–aux champs, c'est pour y cueillir </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am sent to the fields, it is to pick there</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>On m'envoie–t–aux champs, c'est pour y cueillir </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I am sent to the fields, it is to pick there </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Je n'ai point cueilli, j'ai cherché des nids</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I did not pick, I looked for nests</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Au chant de l'alouette je veille et je dors </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>At the song of the lark I wake up and sleep</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Her mind is open, as is his, and together they listen to the world, picking through knowledge and thoughts, satisfying her curiosity and need to know things. He’s never done this with a telepath before, but it is something instinctive, and a phrase, an idea comes to mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Freaks unite, Summer whispered to him, and it’s chilling and sad, yet so beautiful, and he remembered the small blue girl who’d snuck into his house once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he realised why she craves his attention, craves another telepath. The more she uses her power, the faster she dies, and she cannot simply turn it off. And she doesn’t want to, for telepathy is how she’s managed to make friends and keep them, how she knew the dog was pregnant and how she’s managed to stay sane in this building, despite it doing the opposite to any telepath around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All she wanted was to make sure she was not the only one. Just like he had, as a child. And he opens his eyes, spreading strength through her, and she opens her own, giving a choked laugh of thrilling joy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With his help, she sits in a chair at the window, looking down at the city.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to die tonight.” she rasped, not looking at him, the knowledge certain from what they know from the doctors and nurses around them. “Just like thousands of people. And I’ve seen their lives. Their loves, their hates, their fears, and that’s enough for me I think. But maybe not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She believes in reincarnation, and she turns to him, eyes hopefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Start that school please.” she whispered. “If I come back, and am like this—and I hope I will be—I would very much like to go there. It sounds wonderful Charles.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods slowly. “I’m not sure how to get people there, my dear. I can’t exactly go knocking on everyone's door, asking if they’re mutants.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” she breathed, reaching up for her forehead. “But you can sense it, can’t you? Like that baby downstairs, born only today. He’s going to be a mutant, he’ll fly, can’t you tell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d let out a quiet laugh, hand going to her throat, where a rough string held a few wooden beads, painted four separate colours. Yellow, red, blue, and green. She pulls the necklace off, and presses it into his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give that to a kid who needs it. Tell them… something good. Brave. Memorable.”</span>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <span>He might have gone to that hospital in the hopes that he could give a dying girl her only wish, but he left with the hope of being able to start his school. And while nobody else understands, he keeps the necklace in his pocket wherever he goes. In the end, he does find a person to give it too. Jean Grey, a fellow telepath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s in a wheelchair then, bald like Summer was, mind sharp as hers, the song swirling in his mind, when he finds Jean, terrified of her own power after nearly killing the neighbours cat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A friend of mine gave me this.” he said, lifting the necklace. “She was like you and I. Very much, like you and I, in fact. She had this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gestures to his forehead like Summer once had. “And she told me to give this to someone who needed it. And tell them something they’d remember.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses the rough string and worn out beads into Jeans palm. “You’re not alone Jean. You never have been, and never will be. All you have to do; is reach out. Someone will always be there for you.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>